Never Talk to Strange Cats?
by iswearimbritish
Summary: Harry is all alone at a time when he needs companionship most. How will he cope when he has much pent up frustration and no one to take it out on?
1. Chapter 1

Author's note: characters are JKR's but you already knew that...going to alternate chapters with the wonderful Brick Retarded Weatherman...enjoy/ Never Talk to Strange...cats? 

"Ron, I'm only doing it because I really think it could come in handy for Harry's final confrontation with Voldemort. I'm not really sure how, but I've been doing a lot of reading lately, and I feel like it could really do some good. You should really try to help him out some, you know what he is going through right now," lectured Hermione for what seemed to Ron the 9th time before lunch. Hermione had been staying at the Burrow since the beginning of summer. Harry, on the other hand, was back at the Dursley's house, fulfilling his last requirement for the ancient magic to be complete.

"You must be mental. Harry's got so many girls after him right now you would think he's got 6 peckers. Actually, I was at the shop with mum yesterday and while we queued for the register and I overheard someone saying he's actually got four of them and he just lines the girls up and does them all at once…" Ron's face flushed right away; he hadn't meant to mention the wangers. The topic rather embarrassed him ever since Hermione walked in on him modeling in the mirror, and just happened to notice that her big toe was much bigger than his…"manhood".

"Oh my poor, poor Harry," Hermione frowned, " he's been through all hell ever since those incriminating pictures got out. I can't believe that no one understands that they just got a picture of him with his pants caught on the radiator…Honestly, of course that's the reason he was all sweaty and we couldn't see his hands. People these days are just so insufferable that they have to make up stories to make themselves feel better." Hermione couldn't figure out why but she was becoming increasingly uncomfortable talking about this with Ron, after all, they were just like brother and sister.

She soon changed the subject. "But enough of that, we can finish this discussion when I've finished reading _Hogwarts: A History. _I have just a few more things to work out before I tell Harry the good news."

"You can't be serious Hermione? You must've read that same book forty times by now!"

"Honestly Ronald, can't you keep anything straight? This is my sixty-ninth run-through."

"SIGH," said Ron. Over the summer, Hermione had introduced him to the wonders of the muggle computer. He had taken quite a liking to emoting his feelings in random chatrooms. Consequently, he made sure to spell out exactly how he was feeling at any given time. "HORNY. Oh…damn. Just keep reading."

That summer, Harry had had the unfortunate experience of the wizard paparazzi following him home one day, and later coming back to photograph a slightly indisposed Harry. He was definitely wanking; everyone knew that and even Harry had admitted it to his two best friends. What no one could determine from the picture was who was in the photograph held in Harry's hand. Soon after, it became the topic of many gossip columns across the country. Overnight, Harry had become a porn star, with every perverted teen in the country competing to see who could magick his face onto a shagging male the most proficiently.

Meanwhile, Harry's stay at the Dursley's was less than eventful. Ever since Dumbledore's visit the last year, the Dursleys were fully aware that in a couple of days Harry would be allowed to use magic freely as an adult in the wizarding world. Dumbledore. There was that subject again. Harry had pondered the topic a lot lately being all alone in his room. He felt like he was missing the little part of his conscience that was supposed to sit on his shoulder; the one with the long gray beard and the eyes that twinkled behind the moon-shaped spectacles. We all have one. I know I do.

Another topic he pondered often, if not more often than the former, was the lack of letters. He had received a single letter: the standard letter from Ron inviting him to the Burrow as soon as he was able. The part Harry thought was odd was that there were several capitalized words that seemed fairly out of place in the letter, including, "MINATURE, RANDY, AROUSED, LONELY, and MY HAND IS TIRED." Harry kept going over the phrases in his head. Obviously it had to have been some kind of complicated code so that even if the letter was intercepted the information it contained would be safe. Still, Harry still for the life of him could not bring himself to figure it out.

'_Anyways, what has Hermione been up to? She is usually the one who sends letters every day. I hope nothings wrong…She must just be really busy,'_ Harry thought to himself. He was lacking certain…inspirational materials for his…studies. Suddenly, Harry became very uncomfortable and decided to take a brisk walk.


	2. Manila Folders and Such

Insert regular HPffic writer disclaimer here Believe me if JKR used this kind of plot in her story she would be making even more money then she already does. Mmmhmm, Brick Retarded Weatherman, my lover, is writing the next chapalapter.

Today was the day. Hermione was so excited to see Harry, she couldn't sleep at all the night before and insisted on repeatedly waking Ron to…well, just to wake him up. It was rather amusing the things he would yell out upon waking up from a dream. Things like: "I SWEAR IT"S JUST SHRINKAGE FROM THE POOL", "DON"T STOP JUST YET", and "WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT, IT"S NOT MY FIRST TIME." Poor Ron.

Finally, Hermione heard Mrs. Weasley moving around seven floors down, making breakfast. Hermione made it down the steps in record time and skidded to a stop in the kitchen before knocking over the three-foot stack of egg salad sandwiches.

"Good morning dear, just making a few snacks for you to take to Harry. I wouldn't be surprised if those blasted muggles weren't feeding him at all. Are you sure you will be alright getting there yourself? I'm sure it could wait, after all you still haven't told him yet. When I think of all the things that could possibly go wrong, my goodness—you could apparate to the wrong place, you could splinch yourself, you could get kidnapped, you might leave the sandwiches behind, my son is hung like an elevator button—all these worries! What if you apparate and land yourself inside someone and…" Mrs. Weasley talked herself purple in the face. One could tell she was worked up; she usually didn't mention the safety of her sandwiches out of courtesy.

"I promise I will be fine Mrs. Weasley; you have nothing to worry about." Hermione butted in, "I've never been so sure of anything in my life, and I've practiced, practiced, practiced. I'll be back by tonight, so you have absolutely nothing to stress about."

Mrs. Weasley smiled and gave Hermione a hug and a squeeze. So, today really was the day. Over the past months, Hermione had made the decision to become an animagus. She had done all of her research and registered herself last week with the ministry. At first she was convinced she wanted to become deeply bound on a secondary level with her favorite animal—the otter. But, after much consideration, she decided that wasn't exactly the most practical choice. So she went with her second choice and followed in the footsteps of one of her role models, Professor McGonagall.

When transformed, Hermione didn't look too much different than her usual self in cat form. She became a medium brown cat with hair that was much longer around her…tail. She was quite pleased with herself; she believed her new appearance was closer to how she looked on the inside. And now, she was ready to share the good news with Harry. She knew she would be even more helpful to him now with her new set of skills.

So, her knapsack was packed and she was ready to go. Hermione said her long goodbyes to Mrs.Weasley, and without delay stepped out the door and apparated with a loud pop.

POP

And there she was, just as Harry had described it. Hermione had apparated to the alley where, in his fifth year, Harry had been attacked by dementors with his cousin Dudley. There, she made her changes, took a deep breath and started moving. She prowled for a while and took a left on Privet Drive. Once in the backyard, she climbed her way up with a hop, skip, and a jump to the only open window and sat in on the ledge.

When she looked in, Harry was sprawled out on the floor with his arm under what appeared to be a loose floorboard. After a few more seconds of searching, he came out with a victorious look on his face and a manila folder under his arm. Without even noticing the cat in the window, he took a seat in his chair with his back facing Hermione. She wanted to reveal herself, but at the moment she was a cat, and cats are supposed to be curious. And with that reasoning, she waited to watch the events unfold.

As Harry opened the cover, the first sheet was a note on blue paper. The handwriting was fairly scratchy and looked rushed:

_Harry—_

_I did what you asked for, and boy…mmmmm. Okay but seriously, if you ever need any other pictures, or anything at all for that matter, just say the word. By the way, that cloak of yours is fantastic—my lips are sealed._

_Your biggest fan,_

_Colin_

_P.S. This is kind of embarrassing but I put my face in a few pictures I took of you. Any chance you could sign them so I could show my mum? Thanks, you're my favorite._

Harry read the note quickly and dashed it to the floor; then, he went to the back of the folder pulled out the pictures of Colin, and proceeded to stick them between the pages of the History of Magic book propped up on his desk.

What Hermione saw next astounded her. As Harry looked through the folder, it was filled with picture after picture of Hermione—brushing her hair, plucking her eyebrows, etc. The farther he flipped, the more risqué the photos became. The next was of her in her bathrobe; the next, in her towel. After that was a picture of herself completely nude, another in the bath tub, one of her drying off, and the last was of her checking herself out in the mirror.

Oddly enough, Harry set aside the picture of Hermione plucking her eyebrows. He whispered to himself, _'I love it when she does that. She doesn't do it nearly enough,'_ and he whimpered outwardly. He got up from his seat, replaced all the pictures except for the one under the floorboard, and locked his door. When he sat back down, he unzipped his pants and reached into his desk drawer.

It was all too much for Hermione; she was absolutely flabbergasted. So flabbergasted that once he shimmied out of his pants and she was left to gaze at the unbearably large throbbing magnitude protruding from his already overly vast and gigantic boxers (once Dudley's), she fell backwards out of the window to land with a hiss and a screech. She thought with all the space his pork sword took up in his boxers, she could probably house an entire library.

Harry's head shot out of the window to see what the noise was, but was relieved when he saw that it was only an alley cat with hair too long around its…tail. Cat!Hermione dashed out of the yard and only slowed her pace when she knew it was safe. She had a lot of thinking to do and plenty of time to do it in. There was no way she could return to the Burrow yet; Mrs. Weasley would be worried that she was back so soon. She had so many things to ponder that she didn't know what to figure out first: whether or not to tell Harry, whether or not to tell Ron, how she could act around Harry, whether she felt the same way, to name just a few. So she sat on a long park bench and while licking her paws thought to herself, _'He really must have a whole collection of beef bayonets…' _Oh, the possibilities.


	3. Wankpoop

After pondering her predicament on a park bench, Hermione gracefully walked along a small pond where several small children were hurling rocks at ducks, who were falling to their deaths. Hermione looked amused.

The thing about Hermione was this--she was insatiably curious. From the time she spent a total of 104.5 hours (and three minutes, thirty-two seconds) researching Nicholas Flamel, to her risking her own neck in analysis of the basilisk from second year, Hermione could not resist anything that attracted her curiosity. And now--of all animals--Hermione was a cat. And curiosity always gets the cat.

And oh, how got Hermione was.

All she had been thinking of for the last hour was the fact that Harry--her innocent, bespectacled, and gawky Harry--was tossing off to pictures of her... with a rather large man-stick, she added thoughtfully. Despite the fact that Hermione was curious, she also tried to maintain an air of tact. She by no means wished to embarass Harry or herself by catching him in the act. She had already learned her lesson when she walked in on Professor Snape in a rather incriminating position with a beaker. She still had trouble mixing up the words "beaker" and "pecker" while in Potions. After thinking back to that embarassing aspect of her education, Hermione decided she would just apparate back to the Weasleys. She couldn't stand the thought that Harry might feel awkward about her... but still...

"Look mum! Look at that beaver!"

Cat!Hermione turned to the owner of the voice, only to see a chubby, buck-toothed little kid pointing rabidly at her.

"Oh no, son! It's so furry! Look at its large teeth! Stay away, dear! Wouldn't want you getting bit by that hideous beast!"

This sent Hermione over the edge. Incensed by the Muggle's observation of her--what she thought to be--graceful, sumptious cat form, she forgot all aspects of tact. She was not going to let this trip go to waste! She would go back to Harry, and she would confront him! Awkwardness be cursed!

As Hermione, glaring yellow-eyed daggers at the Muggles, trounced off, a furry beaver she had not seen behind her sobbed as he drowned himself in the lake.

-----------------------------------------

Hermione, gathering every ounce of her Gryffindor courage, jumped and climbed her way onto Harry's window ledge. Luckily, his window was still open, so she made to go in, not seeing Harry in sight...

... When the window suddenly closed behind her. The lock snapped shut.

Oh sh--

"Hey, it's you again!" Harry said, coming out of the closet. His clothes closet. Not his gay closet. He's obviously not gay. He wanks to Hermione.

Hermione looked nervous. Hedwig was narrowing her eyes at her. Hermione returned the look with a wary smile, before coughing up a hairball.

"Well, it doesn't look like you have rabies, so you might as well stay..." Harry looked regretably at Hedwig. "Hedwig's beak is no good for what I expect from my pets." Hedwig hooted indignantly. Hermione didn't like the sound of that.

Then Hermione noticed what Harry was wearing.

"I'm going to practice a strip-tease on you... for when... Hermione and I one day..." Harry trailed off, blushing. Hermione gulped, and shat on the windowsill.

Harry then turned on a cheap-ass Muggle radio.

Harry, dressed in Aunt Petunia's assless chaps (they fit better, her being a bony old slag and all) and three of his Uncle Vernon's ties over a Weasley sweater, began to gyrate his hips as the music began. He stood between a rapidly shedding Cat!Hermione and a full length mirror. Harry winked at both Hermione and his reflection. And then, the full show began.

"Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh!" Harry chanted tunelessly to the upbeat, boppy music scratching out from his radio. He began to untie the first tie, patterned with gold airplanes and silver clouds. Hedwig cooed along to the music. Hermione's pee ran down her leg.

Slowly untying the tie in Hermione's direction, he threw it seductively ontop of her. He then ruffled up his own hair and slowly untied the second tie which he dragged suggestively under his armpits and down to his bare feet. He then used his feet to massage the fabric, moaning in the process. Hermione wondered if Harry really wasn't an arse bandit.

And then Harry dropped the chaps. Oh dear.

Harry's two foot long beating, pulsating, throbbing, and general hard-on sprung out. Hedwig fainted backwards in her cage. Hermione was pressed back fully against the window. She had to leave--now!

"Oh, oh, oh, oh, HERMIONE!" Harry continued singing, finally untying the last tie--a rainbow patterned tie with pictures of concrete mixers on them--and tying it around his palpitating, soon-to-be yogurt-slinger.

Hermione felt she might be enjoying this more if it weren't for the fact that Harry's ween made him look like some sort of disfigured elephant from the waist down. And the fact that he was currently screeching her name as he licked his own reflection in the mirror.  
Harry then tore off his glasses, putting the tip of one stem suggestively in his mouth. He then bent over, his skinny, pallid buttocks practically in Hermione's tabby face. He began to jounce his bottom to the music, as he alternately squeezed his cheeks... and then his arse cheeks.

After this move, Harry turned around and stood up, with more, "Oh, oh, oh, oh!"s, lacking in any particular rhythym. He began to skip from one leg to another, bouncing from one side of the room to the other as he spun his glasses around by the stem in his mouth.

Hermione suddenly felt very sad. Harry was going to die very much alone, wasn't he?

But before she could linger more on the fact that Harry was not only stripping for a cat, but stripping quite badly, she began to feel funny. As if her entire body was twisting in knots. Harry didn't seem to notice as she stumbled in her position on the windowsill.

She then felt a very, very large furball making its way up her feline throat. Harry stopped his swinging meat dance to stare curiously at her. He then lunged for her as she fell from her cat-seat...

And everything went black.

* * *

Hey everyone! This is Brick the Retarded Weatherman... a.k.a Brick Retarded Weatherman... a.k.a Shelby! I know my chapter doesn't compare to the lovely bonkythedinosaur, who has written this so far... but... I hope I make do!

Also! If you wish to picture Harry's dancing/singing as I did, listen to "A Sweet Summer's Night on Hammer Hill" by Jens Lekman! Next chapter coming sooon!


	4. Purple Peckers

**Disclaimer:** Bla bla, everything belongs to J.K. Rowling, even though the 6th book was hijacked and written by bad fanfic writers, anyway... but please enjoy! -- Brick Retarded Weatherman

* * *

Cat!Hermione realized she was surrounded by a sea of black…

The black pubic hairs of Harry Potter.

She froze. "No." She thought. "No, no, no. I am not nestled in…"

"That tickles my pubes, cat! Please keep it up!" Harry giggled. He must be joking.

"Only joking, puss." Harry said, attempting to tickle the rigid cat. As Hermione was not moving-- at all-- his fingers accidentally brushed against his turgid wang.

"My, that feels good!" Harry exclaimed. He had just discovered that her fur, in combination with his own tickling, could make for a splendid masturbation.

Luckily, a figurative mandrake roused Hermione from her petrified state. She would _not_ masturbate Harry… at least not as a feline.

She jumped back against his shabby nightstand. Harry prowled towards her… at least, prowled as gracefully as he could with two or three feet of male genitalia in the way.

Unfortunately, Cat!Hermione seemed to find herself right atop the compartment in the floor where Harry had kept nudie pictures of her. Suddenly, the compartment opened-- a trap door! She fell through it, mewling in terror.

Then everything went… purple?

She looked around her. She had landed on all four feet, after all. She appeared to be in a very flamboyant, very purple, very… shaggorific… shagpad.

The-Boy-Who-Lived really had a thing for purple furs. The walls were covered in it, instead of a bed there was a pile of it, and on the ceiling was the fur of purple kneazles.

Then realization hit. Harry was not going to perform some bestial act with her… HE WAS GOING TO SKIN HER!

Harry jumped down the shaft, his own shaft jiggling quite happily to be in its favorite spot. At least, its favorite spot besides Aunt Petunia's vacuum cleaner.

He was brandishing a skinning knife quite threateningly. Hermione had to make a decision. Stay a cat, be skinned alive, and… die. Or, become her human self again, embarrass Harry to the point that he might die, and… die.

Or maybe she could just make a run for it.

Jumping atop Harry's raven locks, Hermione scrambled to reach the trap door leading to her freedom. Unfortunately, her heavy, curly cat fur was just weighing her down. Hermione immediately started calculating her feline velocity with the circumference of the…

"Hey you! What are you doing?" Harry yelped, his penis becoming flaccid as the cat clawed his eyes out.

Hermione went flying across the room. She looked up. Hedwig had escaped from her cage, and had come to rescue her! Cat!Hermione purred happily, as Hedwig's talons dug into her sumptuous tawny fur. Hermione would get out of this one!

And then Hedwig dropped her into a cauldron.

"Oookay." Hermione thought. "Not what I was hoping for…"

Harry stumbled over, as his purple poker sprung back to life. He lifted the knife, ready to spear…!

"NO!" Hermione shouted, as she transformed back into a human. Harry dropped the knife and stumbled back.

Somehow Hermione had neglected to wear clothes when she had transformed. "That's funny." She mused. "I could have sworn I was wearing my new sweater…"

But no matter. Hermione was naked, stuffed in a cauldron, in an also naked Harry's purple shagpad.

What are the odds.

Harry looked shocked. His penis looked hard. His ass looked sweaty.

"Uh… Hermione?" He asked hesitatingly.

"Holy Shit, Harry! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?"

Harry looked chagrined. Hermione _never_ swore. He had just made Hermione swear. And he was guessing by her beet red face, five foot tall hair, and gnashing teeth, that she wasn't very happy with him.

"Hermione... I… I'm sorry. I just…" He took a deep breath. "I really, truly…"

Hermione suddenly looked nervous. "Harry... I'm sorry… I love you, but as a brother…"

Harry looked up, surprised. "Love? I was going to say I really wanted to shag you."

At this, Hermione jumped out of the cramped cauldron and lunged for his jugular-- apparently her Animagus cat form's instincts were still present. Just as her teeth were about to pierce his pallid flesh, she jerked awake.

Jerked awake?!

Hermione realized with a start she had been dreaming. Cracking yellow eyes opened, she saw that she was still in cat form, but had been knocked unconscious after having hacked up a fur ball the size of a hamster. Feeling quite guilty, Hermione remembered that she had actually eaten Ginny's pet hamster, Blumpkins, before her journey… in cat form, of course.

Looking around, Hermione saw Harry coming towards her, his naked form still graced with ties. He even had some ties patterned with drills on now.

Hermione had not forgotten what Dream!Harry had done. She lunged for his inner thigh and bit hard.

"BLOODY HELL!" Harry shouted.

Hermione, feeling angry, frustrated, and sexually repressed, jumped out of the window, and prowled off into some bushes.

Harry sobbed at his loss. He had no idea what he had done to offend the fair feline. Surely his strip dance couldn't have chased her off?

Feeling forlorn at his Hermione!Replacement's departure, he threw himself upon the bed and began to cry profusely. Hedwig rolled her eyes in her cage-- she didn't think she could take more crying this summer. Harry always seemed to mope after he stripped using Uncle Vernon's ties. Why didn't he think to use Dudley's sometimes?

Harry slipped out his most prized picture… a picture of Hermione, in their third year, covertly picking her nose.

"I love you, Hermione." Harry whispered, before turning over and falling into a fitful sleep.

* * *

Hello all! This is Brick Retarded Weatherman, a.k.a Shelby. So ,Bonky really wanted me to finish up this chapter... which I did! Please excuse the immense crappiness, grossness, and language of this chapter. I'm sure you will surely enjoy the way, way, WAY betetr chapter Bonky will write next. Hope you enjoyed none the less! Reviews are always welcome! But please refrain from flaming Bonky, as it is somehow not her fault that she's befriended me. I was thrust upon her doorstep when I was but a wee house-elf... she has no choice but to put up with me. Thanks again for your time! 


End file.
